When Never Comes

by Barbara Davis

Christine felt the ground tilt as she stepped into the lobby of the Clear Harbor Police Station. The scuffed black-and-white floor tiles, the unforgiving fluorescent glare, the nauseating aroma of burned coffee and stale cigarette smoke, reminded her queasily of another night—another calamity a lifetime ago. She shook it off. Deal with the calamity in front of you. If life had taught her anything, it had taught her that. Sergeant Stanley stepped away to speak to the officer at the front desk, then turned back with an awkward smile and pointed to a row of blue plastic chairs along the wall. “You can have a seat if you like. We’ve called to have someone escort you down.” Moments later, the stainless-steel elevator doors opened. Christine was startled to see a familiar figure step into the lobby. Daniel Connelly was—had been—a close friend of Stephen’s, a drinking companion and a regular at his Friday night card games. But he was a homicide detective, and Stephen had died in a car accident. What was he doing here at three in the morning? “Christine.” He took both her hands in his. They were hot and slightly sticky. “I’m so sorry. When they realized it was Stephen, they called me. They thought it might be easier if I was here to . . . explain things.” She frowned. Explain things? It was an odd way to put it, a cold, blunt way. She pulled her hands free, trying not to be